The Empty
by Echoing Fantasy
Summary: Drabble for CWKT. Kyouya remembers much, but says little.


**AN: **New drabble for reaching 100 reviews on CWKT! This time, have some dark, angsty Kyouya.

**Warning:** Mentions of child abuse.

* * *

_The Empty_

He remembers being small, too small to care for himself. He remembers looking in the mirror every morning and seeing that black hair he hated so much, the black eyes that he loathed, and the shape of the face that was not his own. He remembers the black clothes, and the bare beds and the overabundance of things he didn't want in his life.

In short, he remembers the woman he hated calling mother.

He did not want her existence, not her and the cold, calculating air she had around her, or the harsh way she spoke to him. He remembers her bringing home many men, and having what he would later define as sex with them. She never cared if Kyouya was in the room or not, and neither did the men. He learned to ignore her and those she brought home.

He remembers looking in the mirror, and wishing his hair was blond like his father's, and his eyes were blue. He wanted to look into the mirror every morning, and see the person he loved and trusted more than anything. He wanted to love himself, but he couldn't with his black hair and eyes and clothes. He wanted to be light like his father, walking in graceful steps with an air of nonchalance, and pure tolerance around him. He wanted to have a family like his father did, a family of people to argue and bicker with and unconditionally _love. _

He would do all of that, if he could. He would be their protector, moving from room to room with grace, loving everyone he came into contact with in his own silent way. And when his father brought him to the place he loved so much, and introduced him to the people he wanted to love in his own silent way, he thought he _finally _had a chance to love and be loved in turn. He would finally be someone he could like.

If only. _If only._

The dark woman came back, and started giving him things. Things he did not want, did not need. She crooned sickly-sweet words in his ears, her nails digging into his arms as she promised him the world over and over, if only he would stay with her. The more Kyouya resisted, the further in her nails would dig, and the fewer gifts began to come. Instead, she began to hurt him. Little things at first, "accidentally" dropping something hot into his lap, or "forgetting" to pick up little tiny shards of glass on the ground from where she dropped them.

And then the men came, and they began to hurt him too. They were not subtle, like his mother was. They threw him into walls, hit him with their fists, bellowed and threatened him, shook him until he blacked out. He knew no peace in those days. But the final straw came the day the woman came into his bedroom and told him, "Your daddy doesn't want you anymore, so you'll be staying with me."

His father... didn't want him?

Had he done something wrong? Did one of the beloved ones he served not like him? Was he too small, too boring, too dirty?

That must be it. He was too dirty, too broken. They didn't want someone broken and dirty like him around. Okay, Kyouya could deal with that. He would make himself not broken and not dirty, and then they would like him again.

They would have to, right?

He remembers fighting the prefect of the school his mother sent him to, and taking the tonfas from an older kid he beat. He remembers beating up other kids, delinquents, and liking it. He remembers thinking, _If I am strong, I can fix myself. I will no longer be broken._

And so he fought so that he would never be broken.

He remembers hating everyone, scaring them away, those with the whispers and the crowding – they whispered more when they were in crowds. They talked about _him, _and ruined his image. He remembers thinking, _If I can disperse the crowds, I can stop the whispering. I will no longer be dirty. _

And so he terrified all he came across so he would no longer be dirty.

But as time went on, he began to imagine imperfections to himself. He saw things that he did not like, things that were not there, and made up for it by becoming more violent, more twisted, more cruel. All so he would be loved.

On that fateful day when his father called him and told him to come to the manor, he thought with joy _Finally, I can show him how clean I am. How fixed I am. He will love me again._

But that brunette with the molten gold eyes ruined it all. The brunette he had been told to hunt looked at him and said, **_"Your soul has been crying out in pain all these years. Why haven't you told anyone, yet?"_**

And he replied: _"Because I was broken and dirty, but I fixed myself. My father will love me again, and then I can finally come home."_

The brunette had ruined it all. He had destroyed what Kyouya had been working so hard to contain. With but a look from those haunting gold eyes, he had seen into Kyouya's heart, into the darkness that had dragged him so far down. Past the excuses. Past the words his mother had whispered. And when the not-boy laid his hand gently over Kyouya's heart, he felt the beginnings of warmth inside, warmth that burned away the cold that had haunted him for years.

Under his hand, Kyouya had felt the beginnings of a benediction. A cleansing. _**"You were never broken, child of the Cloud. And you were never filthy. The words were lies, made to drag you down, to taint you. And they have done just that. Because of your own actions, you are now more broken than before, filthier than you could have ever imagined."**_

Broken and filthy. All these years, deluding himself into thinking he was perfecting himself – but he has merely been destroying everything his father has cultivated. Now he pushes his father away so the man will not cut himself on the shards of his soul, so the man will not become filthy from touching the once-pure child that is no longer there.

"_Why, Kyouya?" _His father asks.

Because I am filthy and broken, Kyouya thinks but does not say as he turns away, spitting the cold, hurtful words at the man, all the better to keep him away. And because you do not need to bleed and hurt for my sins.


End file.
